


something to do with you

by lvl50skogsfru



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Don't copy to another site!, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, and became...this, drunk fantasizing, everyone is hopeless, extremely self indulgent, i am not immune to cliches, started as a vague short stupid thing, starts after heavensward bard quests so maybe spoilers idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvl50skogsfru/pseuds/lvl50skogsfru
Summary: This may not have been the first time he encountered a situation that left him thinking just how unfairly attractive the bard was (probably about as insufferable as he was, truthfully) or with discomfort he didn’t quite know how to explain, but for all the times Guydelot talked about his habits, this was the first time he had seen him with someone.And he wasn't sure what to do with the distaste it left him with.
Relationships: Sanson Smyth/Guydelot Thildonnet
Comments: 9
Kudos: 53





	1. essence of desire

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this started for months but kept thinking of stuff to add and feeling unsure about it so i decided to just post some of it anyway, or else i probably never will.
> 
> wol is mildly described with my bard wol's features, but should be easily replaceable with whomever you want if you feel like it.
> 
> eventually i'll get back to the estimeric thing, also. oops

In retrospect, Sanson thinks, perhaps giving in and coming to the tavern with the rest of the Adders was a mistake after all.

He didn’t think this until he’d already accepted his second pint of ale, however, and had been blocked into the corner around a table as the others surrounded the rest of it with no easy way of escaping. 

He didn’t think it, until he’d resigned himself to watching and being mildly embarrassed by their behavior, feeling his own inebriation taking over, and by then it was too late.

(Guydelot is among them, of course- _can’t miss a chance to get drunk or find someone to spend a night with_ \- Sanson lamented with a roll of his eyes- and the Warrior of Light too; explaining that he really needed a break and some relaxation.)

He didn't think this until everyone started talking over each other in response to someone's comment and all began to muddle together, and the Adder Captain had to tune them out to simply maintain his composure.

“What’re you sayin’?” Guydelot shouted moments later, startling Sanson, voice slightly slurred from the alcohol he had consumed thus far. He was perched on the edge of the table, one leg up on it and the other (unsteadily) planted on the ground next to him. Sanson can’t recall what was originally said that caused him to say that, but it’s his slightly on edge tone that drug his sluggish brain to pay attention now.

A newer recruit that Sanson didn't know well laughed, shrugging awkwardly like he hadn’t expected to be singled out. He’s flushed, most likely the warmth of the room and alcohol, but the sharp way Guydelot is eyeing him probably doesn’t help. “Oh, just- everyone _talks_ about you, y’know? I didn’t think you were the kind of guy to do something like that.”

Sanson scoffed with a shake of his head. Guydelot’s gaze fixes on him instantly. “Somethin’ you wanna say, Chief?”

Sanson vaguely gestured, almost spilling some of the drink in his hand. “Any recruit should know better than to listen to gossip about someone higher up.” he ignores the smirk that spreads on Guydelot’s face in his peripheral vision. He paused as his brain caught up to the conversation. “What exactly _is_ it that you're arguing about?”

A few people, Guydelot included, laugh at that- amused that he was tipsy enough to not have been present entirely during the conversation. The Warrior of Light leaned against him, tail flicking playfully between them on the bench seat.

“Apparently,” the Miqo'te drawls, voice lowered as if trying not to laugh again. “Guydelot isn't allowed to like men because of how flirtatious he is with women.”

No one else seemed surprised by this statement- _if you'd been paying attention you wouldn't_ _be either_ , his brain supplies, even as he feels like he's still missed half the important information. He looks at Guydelot with raised eyebrows. “Uh- wait, do you? I didn’t know. Not that there’s an issue-”

Guydelot rolled his eyes. “Well you hardly pay any attention to what I do if it doesn't affect you, of course you wouldn’t know.” Sober, Sanson wouldn’t have thought twice about it (because it’s true, sort of) but inebriated his brain holds onto the statement. Given how their relationship started, he can't exactly blame Guydelot for thinking he's still indifferent towards him. “I was telling our friend here that charm has nothing to do with preference.”

The young recruit leaned forward, palms flat on the table as he stares at Guydelot. And now Sanson recognizes the look on his face- nevermind the gross feeling it makes grow in him. “I’m just saying that I have a hard time picturing someone like you being on the receiving end of anything-” Sanson choked, mouth full of alcohol, implications obvious and making his already hazy head swim. 

When he managed to recover, Guydelot was shaking his head, expression pained overdramatically. “Should I be offended that you think confidence relates to what _position_ someone enjoys or flattered that apparently you _have_ tried picturing me in a compromising one?”

“Okay, okay-” Sanson stumbled to his feet, shaking his hands in a dismissive gesture towards everyone. “That’s enough of that. Let’s get going, some of us have to be up early-” It takes an absurd amount of control to keep his mouth from unhelpfully informing everyone he’s beginning to feel flustered at the conversation for more reasons than he cares to think about. 

“If you’re interested, all you have to do is ask.” Guydelot continues, ignoring Sanson completely. “There’s no need to make a whole scene.” The young archer’s blush spreads and Sanson stares, bewildered, as Guydelot stood off the table and approached. The young man did nothing to move away or stop him as he did, but someone else grabbed him by the shoulders and turns him to face the bard just in time for Guydelot to manhandle shaking arms around his own waist-

It started as just a press of their lips together, inciting cheers to erupt from the group. But it only took a few moments for the recruit to gather himself and his clumsy hold turned into a tight grip, fingers pressing into Guydelot’s hips. It felt invasive, but Sanson couldn't stop watching everytime Guydelot’s tongue lapped into the other archer’s mouth as if in slow motion. The tension in his stomach coiled up tighter and flooded his chest with an unpleasant adrenaline- a feeling so similar to nausea that he wonders if it’s just the alcohol making its way back up-

_Or, if it’s just Guydelot._

What felt like minutes or hours ends in only a handful of seconds. Guydelot moved away, smirking, swiping his thumb over his lower lip as he does. The recruit's expression is dazed, his rounded ears burning red with embarrassment. Sanson wanted to feel some sympathy for him, but, well.. He just couldn’t seem to find the space for it among all the confusing things going through his head.

This may not have been the first time he encountered a situation that left him thinking just how unfairly attractive the bard was (probably about as insufferable as he was, truthfully) or with discomfort he didn’t quite know how to explain, but for all the times Guydelot talked about his habits, this was the first time he had _seen_ him with someone.

And he wasn't sure what to do with the distaste it left him with.

Everyone around the table was going quieter, though a few were still teasing the recruit for his forwardness. Sanson lifted his mug- resolved to finish it off, if only to perhaps dull the feeling etching it’s way through him. _Get a grip, what does it matter what he does? He does it all the time, makes it very known. Not like we're anything but coworkers-_

“Okay Captain,” Sanson whipped around (as well as he could anyway) at the familiar voice, only to fall back against the table from the motion. Guydelot was there- _when did he get there? And why was he_ so close? Sanson glanced up to his face awkwardly. “I think you’ve had enough, yeah? Let’s get you back to the barracks.” He reached forward, one hand coming to rest firmly against Sanson’s midback. The pressure of his touch made the lancer’s stomach flip. He followed along with no resistance as he was pushed towards the door, past the Warrior of Light who was giggling in their direction as he waved.

“Guydelot, someone has to- to watch them and take them home-” Sanson protested, even as his feet went along willingly, back burning at the point of contact between them.

“No, I think they’ll be just fine. They’re a lot less drunk than you right now.” Guydelot insisted. He’s steering Sanson toward the front door, and eventually they make it outside into the chilly forest air. Immediately Sanson feels less tense, as if he had been on alert just from being in the crowded tavern. Maybe he was less sober than he thought after all. “And if you get lost or pass out somewhere _I’m_ probably gonna get in trouble.”

“Ah, I should’ve known,” Sanson muttered, narrowed eyes seeking out the taller Elezen next to him. “You’re not _actually_ concerned. Go back inside, then, I’ll be fine. The Barracks aren’t that hard to find.” He started off in the direction that vaguely looked the most correct, throwing a lazy wave over his shoulder to his teammate.

The whole way back to the Barracks (which takes longer than it should’ve due to being unsteady and inebriated) Sanson remains aware of the bard following him- not just because of the humming he can hear but also for the odd sensation of being watched that makes his neck itch. But neither of them speak to each other, and so when they arrive at their destination Sanson finally stops and awkwardly eyes the man following him.

"Uh.. well, this is me, so…"

Guydelot, drumming his fingers as if he's playing an instrument with his humming, looked up at the building they're standing before. "So it would seem. Sure you can get yourself situated without incident? Don't need someone to keep an eye on you?" He teases. Sanson attributes the heat flushing his face to the cold.

"Yes, I'm not _that_ drunk, as I told you, I'm just fine." The lancer declared before marching off towards the door, feet stumbling more than he'd ever admit in his rush. The retreat into the door happens in a blur that leaves him dizzy, desperate as he is to get away from the bard who is mumbling something about 'drinking lots of water or you'll regret it!'- as if he actually cares if Sanson is alright.

_Stop being confusing-_

"Go home, Guydelot, I'm perfectly capable of taking hangover precautions. I don't need a babysitter."

Guydelot laughs through the door, voice low and amused. "Alright, alright, fine." Sanson can practically see him throwing his hands up in a dramatic gesture. "You better be up on time tomorrow then, you hear? I got drug into this mission and can't be the only one sober enough to actually perform."

Sanson laughs too because it's true- he and the Warrior of Light had had to bargain with the tall bard to get him to agree to join them on what he had called 'boring busy work' they had been asked to do tomorrow. "Then maybe you should check on the Warrior of Light- he drank far more than I did and was still at the tavern!"

"Aye, aye, I'm going! Can't blame a guy for worrying over his teammates, especially one who doesn't drink!" 

Sanson covers his face with his hands and breathes slowly, heart fluttering- _why do you have to make me like this?_

Footsteps sound down the staircase, silence following in the quiet night outside. Finally alone, Sanson slumped against the wall. He couldn’t help listening though- as if he expected Guydelot to turn around and come back for- _for what? To keep talking?_ As if the two of them had ever ‘hung out’ outside of being forced to work together, really. _Probably for the better._ He reminded himself with a sigh. _We’d just end up arguing and having problems with each other._

Despite that knowledge, he was, unfortunately, finding himself not immune to drunken daydream-like thoughts, wondering what it would have been like during the search for the Ballad of Oblivion if he and Guydelot had gotten along, or at least been able to tolerate one another better. Sanson had wanted to learn about bards and the power of songs and yet when he had a golden opportunity handed right into his lap he couldn’t put aside his stubborn pride long enough to actually _use_ it.

_(Use._ No, that wasn’t quite right. He didn’t like that word, especially not in relation to Guydelot and his passion for song.)

But, all that was assuming that Guydelot felt anything of the same. If Sanson had made an effort, would he have reciprocated? 

“Being drunk is not the time to think about this,” Sanson muttered to himself, suddenly feeling antsy. He stood up and began to make his way down the short hall to his room, leaning awkwardly on the wall as he did until he reached it and was able to collapse onto his bed. No, the only thing he had really been able to learn about Guydelot was that he was someone who liked to flirt, and that that was about the only thing he seemed to do. (And yet, it was his attempts to flirt that had found them the lead on the song in Foundation and even saved a man’s life in the process.) The reminder brings up the unbidden image of Guydelot and the archer at the tavern to his swirling mind, and scatters the rest of his train of thought before he can let them fully form.

_'I just can't imagine someone like you being on the receiving end..'_

Truth be told, it wasn't something Sanson felt was appropriate to dwell on towards anyone, but Guydelot did have a certain attitude that made it hard to picture him submitting to anyone. _Maybe he's not._ An unhelpful part of the lancer's brain ads. Sanson mulls that over for an uncomfortable amount of time. 'Receiving' didn't necessarily mean he was suddenly going quiet or anything of that sort. Surely no matter what he did or didn't do he would still be as talkative, stubborn, and cocky as usual..

In the tavern, Guydelot had controlled the kiss, and even was the one who directed the recruit how to hold him-

Stomach pressed against the bed, it's much harder to ignore the rising problem that he hadn't quite registered until now. Sanson groaned inwardly. As if he wasn't having enough of an unusual night, now he had to be aroused and buzzing with strange desires brought about by stranger thoughts.

Sanson bunched up the pillow on either side of his face and sighed into it in an attempt to distract himself, or calm down. _Anything else, please think of something else._

_…._

Nope.

The only thing he could think about was insufferable, tall, handsome, and probably wandering back to someone else's home with them. Sanson rolled over slowly, trying desperately to ignore the way his head swam with the motion and unable to move his train of thought in a different direction.

_Guydelot kissing someone. Guydelot with hands in their hair, biting their lips, their hands gripping his hips, him being bitten on the neck when they move on. Gasping, ears flushing-_

"Ah-" a hand flies down to grip the bedsheets as the urge to touch himself becomes almost unbearable. So too does the jealousy pooling in his chest, and he starts to wonder about something else-

_What would Guydelot be like with me?_

When they were together they were snapping at each other- passively fighting one another as one sought for control and one fought to defy leadership. If Sanson wanted him to do things, it was met with resistance and snarky comments. Picturing the bard going along with any kind of request was… almost impossible. _N_ _o matter what, he'd always take the lead. Always be giving orders- saying what he wants._ Sanson shut his eyes, willing bits of half formed images away. The direction of his thoughts, too, bothered him for more reasons, though. Thinking of someone that way was so.. Impersonal.

_And yet..._

Without really thinking about it, he drew up the bottom of his tunic enough that it wasn’t in the way of unlacing his pants and shoving them down to mid thigh. _Just get it over with and you’ll be able to sleep,_ he thought, even as part of him knew that wouldn’t help with what he really wanted rid of.

Fingers having barely brushed himself through his small clothes, he bit his lip to quiet a gasp from how intense the touch felt. Desire was building under his skin, but so too was guilt for what he was feeling and thinking. When his fingers did sneak under his last layer and grip himself, Sanson groaned; hips stuttering towards the contact mindlessly. His thumb moved to swipe at the tip, collecting and smearing the wetness there and drawing out another needy noise. "Oh, Gods-”

_“Someone’ll hear you if you don’t keep quiet,”_

In his head, Sanson pictures Guydelot stuffing the edge of a discarded piece of clothing in his mouth and in reality he mimics it by biting at the shoulder of his shirt bunched up by his neck, effectively muffling his sounds as he continues to touch himself.

Imaginary Guydelot is perched atop Sanson’s hips- long, slender legs encasing either side of his torso as he smirks down at the lancer. Sanson wonders if Guydelot is someone who likes to bite a lot- though the kiss at the tavern should be answer enough to that- wonders if the elezen would mark his neck and the rest of the way down his body as their hips rocked together, or if he’d run his fingers through Sanson’s hair and tug it. A shaky gasp escaped him, releasing the material in his mouth. He so desperately wished he wasn’t actually alone right now, didn’t have to wonder and imagine what would happen instead of being able to actually _know_ , and taste, and feel. He wished he could dig his fingers into the bard’s hips and leave behind bruises as he was swept along by Guydelot’s lead. He wished he could feel the other’s warm breath on his ear, instead of pretending it was there.

He wanted-

He wanted Guydelot.

“Please,” he moaned out loud. (And in the morning he would probably ignore any reminder that this had slipped out of his mouth, ignore any brief memory of his thoughts and what they meant- but right now it was hopelessly true.) “Want you so bad,”

_"Show me how much then, hm? You can come for me, can't you?"_

And thus far his brain had only been thinking of things that were easy; familiar, somewhat. Things he had always known Guydelot did- until something filters in, and his inebriated thoughts realized belatedly that, based on the tavern conversation...

_Guydelot has had sex with men as well._

Not just touching and kissing- far beyond harmless teasing and bar make outs-

"Oh God." Sanson breathes, because suddenly the image of Guydelot straddling him is far, _far_ more taunting.

It's the thought of the tall bard taking him inside- _lifting up to balance on his knees as he guides Sanson's cock against him, groaning and breathing heavy as he adjusts, but_ still smirking _like he knows he's going to destroy Sanson_ \- that pushes him toward the edge and leaves him shuddering and moaning into the emptiness of his room.

But it's the thought of Guydelot ignoring his whining and overstimulated senses and continuing to _use_ Sanson for his own pleasure- _harder, faster, grabbing at Sanson’s_ _thighs for balance as an exerted flush spreads over his body-_ that makes him realize he is truly and utterly… fucked.

No, Sanson didn't know much about relationships. But he knew the name for the feeling causing all of this.

'Fucked' didn't even begin to describe it.

\-----

The next day, Sanson does wake up on time- barely, and manages to down enough water to make his swimming head feel slightly more bearable before heading out to meet the Warrior of Light and Guydelot, all the while ignoring evidence of what had transpired last night that he had been too tired to properly clean. The two are outside the markets, under a canopy, chatting as they eat some kind of food Guydelot is holding. The Miqo’te looks like he may not be feeling quite right, and Sanson can't blame him after how his own stomach is revolting against being upright and about. He resolutely ignores the possibility that he's maybe slightly jealous at seeing them together so early, as if they had been together after Sanson sent Guydelot away last night.

_No, don't start thinking about that._

It's the Miqo'te who notices Sanson first- eyes sliding past Guydelot’s frame to land on him. Despite the tired look to his face, his smile is genuine and warm as ever. "Hey, there he is! Glad you decided to join us." He teases. Guydelot glances back over his shoulder as Sanson approaches and gives them an apologetic half bow. "Guydelot was concerned you may have injured yourself last night."

As if to confirm, Sanson looks at the other bard briefly. "Oh?" The sight of him up close brings back more half formed memories from his drunken brain the night before, but he tries to ignore it.

"Aye, well it would be awfully inconvenient to have to explain that I left you alone and you broke an arm or something." He replies, smirking. Sanson raises a hand to cover his face, hoping it could be passed off as a wave of nausea. _Does he look particularly good today or have I truly lost it?_

"I should hope you have more faith in me than to think I'm capable of such a thing." he manages, weakly.

The Warrior of Light is smirking now too, tail moving in a way all too telling of how amused he is. "I'm sure that isn't what he meant, right? It's normal to worry about _friends_."

_So I keep hearing._

Before Sanson can open his mouth and comment, Guydelot is laughing, drawing both of the other's full attention. "Don't look at me like that, both of you!" Sanson jumped when the Elezen jabbed a skewered snack stick in his direction. "Proficiency on the battlefield has nothing to do with everyday accidents! You're as prone as anyone else, and you know it."

Uncertainty as to if he _is_ genuinely being worried over or not aside (and was that actually a compliment as well?), Sanson shrugs and says the first thing that comes to mind. "Well so are _you_ , then!"

Guydelot’s face changes from teasing to surprised, eyes confused like the day not too long ago that they had all faced down the Siren in the Sea of Clouds. The feelings he had felt at the time had been so strange (s _o much relief, elation at seeing him again)_ that he had barely given time to think it over or consider _why_. And now that he was having even more, and different ones too, it was becoming even more difficult to ignore. But that was something Sanson did very well regardless, it seemed.

"I suppose you're right, Chief." Guydelot’s voice breaks his train of thought. The bard is still eyeing him out of the edge of his gaze, even as his lips quirk back to a familiar smile. Sanson reaches up and adjusts the collar of his tunic awkwardly, a rush of heat making its way up his chest. "Better make sure you keep an eye on me, too, then, aye?" 

_Twelve strike me now. Don't look at me like that!_

"Aye, aye-" Sanson spun on his heel and turned back towards the direction he had come from, leaving his companions to follow after, ignoring the same burning sensation on his back, being watched by Guydelot no doubt. "-but we have stuff to be doing, don't we? Let's get going." 

"Awww he's blushing-"

"I won't put in better words for your performance just because you're the Warrior of Light!"

"I'm hungover, come on!"

"So am I!"


	2. faces in the crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the past month has been kinda busy but the past few days have been really really bad for me. i decided to post some of this to have something else to think about. i didnt edit/touch up nearly as meticulously as the first part, so sorry if it's like.. weird or whatever. and it's shorter. let me know what you think so far?

“You  _ have  _ to come!”

“I’m very busy, I hardly have the time..”

“But it’s-” The Warrior of Light pauses to lean over Sanson’s desk, fingers wrinkling a very important sheet of paperwork. Sanson nudges at his hand until the bard moves it. “-it’s a special occasion. Surely you can take a break once in a while for some fun.”

The way he says fun sounds mischievous, not too out of place for the Miqo'te, but Sanson knows better than to think he doesn’t have some kind of ulterior motive. “Try telling that to my superiors.” he sighs. The Miqo’te pulls a face, clearly displeased. “Besides, if you need someone to come with you while you decide if you should hit on this crush of yours, who I’m sure will be there judging by your eagerness, you’d be better off asking someone else.” the lancer ignores the affronted noise the Warrior of Light makes as he stacks some of the papers on his desk into a stack off to the side, out of the way of the bard’s potentially damaging fingers. “Someone like Guydelot. He knows all about that.” And Sanson hopes the bitterness he feels with those words doesn’t come through his voice.

The Miqo’te’s eyes narrow as he tilts his head back, gaze scrutinizing Sanson so carefully that he can feel the questions without really even looking. 

“...What?”

“ _ Sooo _ …” the Warrior of Light starts. He lays more onto the desk, bracing himself on his forearms as he invades Sanson’s space. The Adder Captain spares him an unamused look. When his friend continues speaking, his voice is low like he thinks someone might be listening in. “When are you gonna tell him, hmmm?”

“Tell who what?” This time Sanson is less gentle about knocking the bard away from the papers he’s squishing. “If someone complains about my reports being messed up I’m sending them your way-”

“Guydelot!” the Warrior of Light interrupts, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. Sanson feels his face flush immediately. “You’re really not as subtle as you think.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _ Sanson _ . You’re absolutely smitten!” And now his company is rounding the desk excitedly, eyes wide and lips quirked in a grin. “I figured you’d confide in me yourself sooner but apparently not.” The Miqo'te snatches Sansons hands, ignoring his yelp, and tugs his friend to his feet so they’re facing each other. “So. Tell me about it.”

“There’s nothing to  _ tell _ -”

“Come  _ on _ \- after all we’ve been through don’t you trust me?”

The look on the bard’s face is nowhere near as innocent as the statement would imply. Sanson raises an eyebrow at him. “I do. Twelve you should know I do. But this…” he pauses, at a loss for words. “This is… I don’t even know where to begin. I- I’ve never…” 

_ Never...what? Been interested in someone? Am I? Just because you think something about someone, and they make you flustered, and are very attractive... _

A noise reminiscent of a parent fawning over their child escapes the Miqo’te, and Sanson vaguely feels like the ground should swallow him up. It, of course, does not, so he has to stand there and endure the feeling of being stared at like  _ that  _ by the Warrior of Light. “Well then even more reason to come out with me. We can discuss all of it. Yes? I'm very good at giving relationship advice.”

"Considering you can't even form a sentence around Silvairre half the time I highly doubt that. Also, we aren't in a relationship-"

"Just agree already."

_ This is a bad idea- _

And yet, two nights later, he finds himself doing just that- getting dressed up for some tavern party, the theme of which the Warrior of Light had boiled down to ‘dressing very fancy and very expensive’ before handing a pile of clothing to Sanson and demanding he wear it.

So, that was how he showed up to the tavern- awkwardly pulling at the choker-like necklace that the Warrior of Light had lent him, peaking out from the top of the jacket he was wearing to protect from the chill outside. Outside of the doors some All-Saints’ Wake decorations were set up- a few bright pumpkins, some banners and streamers, as well as strings of small lights and fake spiderwebs. A couple cute, stuffed renditions of monsters found in the Shroud were placed around as well. Sanson found himself laughing at one that looked like a diremite, but with short, chubby legs and a bow. “Who in Eorzea did they manage to convince to make these,” he wondered aloud.

“Some poor soul who probably has never attended a party in their life.” a familiar voice chimes in. Sanson jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder, but when he turns he isn’t surprised to see the Warrior of Light standing there. “Just kidding. They’re really cute, aren’t they? Wonder if the owner would let me buy one off of them.”

“Don’t you have a friend who weaves? I’m sure he would make one for you, if you brought him the supplies.” the Miqo’te tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing, and that was when Sanson realized what else looked different about him. “Hey! You cut your hair. What happened to needing to ‘look like a mess’?”

The Miqo'te grinned at him, showing his sharper fangs as they turned to face the doorway and passed by some flickering candles. “Well.. I thought maybe it was time to try something more mature looking. And now it’ll be out of my face more.” He nodded to the waiter attending to the door, and Sanson raised an eyebrow at the slight flush to his face. “Gonna stash your coat?”

“Oh- uh, I think I’ll keep it with me-”

“No, no, no, I did not go through the work of giving you that outfit for it to be half hidden!” the bard reached over and unhooked the clasps of Sanson’s jacket, ignoring his protesting, and worked it open. Sanson stepped out of his range as he finished removing it, sincerely hoping the heat he felt on his face wasn’t visible.

_ Stop blushing like a child, get it together. _

“Thank you.” Sanson sighed as he gave the jacket to the waiter. When he looked back at the Warrior of Light, his friend was whistling. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking I chose well.” the bard sidled into Sanson’s space again and looped their arms together. The material of his sleeve touching Sanson’s bare arm only reminded him just how exposed he was. “You should get out of that uniform more often.”

Sanson flushed. “I-I don’t know about that, it’s awfully revealing after all.. And I have to work a lot, wearing anything else feels pointless…not all of us can do what we please most days.” or wear, either, he thought. The Warrior of Light had a flair for fancy jackets, open neck collars and the like. But tonight he was wearing a long black tunic with slits up the side of the legs. His pants were matte white, though mostly hidden by familiar thigh high black boots. He fit in very well with the other guests mingling around them.

“Yes and you look great under all of that, so why hide it?” Sanson placed his free hand on his face, but did nothing to stop himself from being led along by the Warrior of Light, who ignored half of his statement. “Speaking of hiding, have you seen Guydelot?”

“We literally just arrived, when would I have seen him?”

The bard laughed. “No I mean have you  _ noticed _ him? He’s pretty easy to spot, I figured you'd see him right away.”

Sanson groaned.  _ Just what I need, the Warrior of Light teasing me and Guydelot giving me grief for not working and wearing something like this, while he flirts with everyone-  _ but he looked up anyway, and followed where his companion is gesturing to, down on the other side of the tavern's center area.

_ Oh _ \- the Warrior of Light was right. Guydelot  _ was _ noticeable, not just for his height and strumming harp, but also for his attire of the night- which consisted of a long sleeved, teal velvet looking shirt, over strangely short shorts of a similar material and color. Over his collarbones, sweeping down in a half circle shape the material was thinner, see through.

"Everytime I see him I swear he's taller." Is what Sanson says out loud, eyeing the heeled boots Guydelot was wearing. His gaze traveled up, fixing eventually on the strip of bare skin between the top of them and the bottom of the shorts.

From some unknown corner of his mind, he suddenly finds himself wondering what it would be like to kiss him there. 

_ Fingers on Guydelot’s knee, a heeled boot digging into his shoulder, a smirk aimed his way- _

Sanson’s mouth dries up.

Several people were around the bard, listening to him play or chatting between his little tunes, but still Guydelot manages to look away long enough to see the Miqo’te and Sanson. His eyes widen-  _ surprised we’re here? _ \- then immediately move to look at the shirt (or lack of, really) Sanson wore. The lancer's skin feels electric, little sparks of heat dancing along him in the wake of those eyes appraising down the deep v-neck of the shirt. And he had been prepared for taunting words, a well aimed jab about being a workaholic, something that would remind him that Guydelot did not feel the same that he did-

But he wasn't at all prepared for the intense look in Guydelot’s eyes when he finally finished his once over and met Sanson’s again. 

Sanson bites down a noise rising through his throat.

_ Why are you looking at me like that?? _

Suddenly insecure and uncertain, Sanson moved closer to the Warrior of Light, who accepted him easily and with a pleased rumble as he waved to their teammate.

Guydelot’s gaze moved, slowly, to the Miqo'te. He smirks, waves a hand, then looks away completely. No longer feeling so watched, the heat on his body seems to evaporate, but does nothing to get rid of the pounding in his veins. Guydelot’s attention is back on someone else, and for all the things he's feeling now, Sanson isn't sure if one of them is relieved or disappointed.

\---

"I'm telling you. You should just tell him." a teasing voice says out of nowhere some time later, leaning into his ear to be heard over the noise and band playing.

He doesn't specify but Sanson knows what he means. "I told you, there's nothing to tell-"

"Did you even pay attention?" the bard laughed. He patted Sanson’s side, fingers brushing his skin in the wide sleeve holes. "Don't tell me you didn't see how he was  _ looking  _ at you."

"I-"  _ I did but do I dare assume it meant anything?  _ "He just looked surprised to me."

The Warrior of Light is laughing again. Sanson flushed, embarrassed and warm from the crowded space.

" _ Surprised?  _ Sanson Smyth I daresay our friend was a good deal more than just  _ surprised. _ "

"Well it's not- not as if I've got much  _ experience  _ with any of this, how am I supposed to know?" And then, because clearly he's already been found out so what's the point of hiding his curiosity? "If you’re so insightful then care to tell me just what it is you saw that I missed?"

"Hmmm," the Miqo'te makes a noise similar to a purr, and his eyes move away, fixed somewhere behind Sanson. "Seemed to me there was some mutual mental undressing going on, is all."

_ Is all _ he says, as if it's the most normal, unexciting thing. Meanwhile Sanson can feel his chest restricting with some combination of hope and fearful adrenaline. He thought back to the thought he'd had earlier- the thoughts he had been having with increasing frequency ever since the first time weeks ago.  _ Guydelot kissing him, everywhere, anywhere, because with this shirt on his whole torso was available easily- _

Also, who gave the Warrior of Light the right to be so  _ aware  _ and  _ perceptive _ ? "I was not-"

The Miqo’te doesn't even have to say anything. The look on his face says it all and Sanson groaned weakly. "Oh god I'm hopeless."

"Perhaps. But so is he."


	3. caught in the headlights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case it wasn't obvious, i put in quite a bit of my own headcanons/indulgences about characters when i write, so that's.. kinda mostly what this chapter is. the 'other side', as it were.
> 
> also, i'm usually not sure what to reply to comments, i wish i could like them so you know i read them. but i DO read them, and i really appreciate all of them. thank you.
> 
> as far as my comment in the last chapter about my mood, i am doing better, i guess? grief is like... weird. comes and goes.

Guydelot wasn't quite sure what to make of the scene before him.

Strange enough that the Warrior of Light and Sanson had arrived together-  _ when had they gotten so chummy, anyway? _ They seemed to always be together in recent weeks, though, so maybe it wasn’t that strange after all. Yes, he supposed going through some kind of almost death situation did bring people closer together, and yes the Warrior did have a lot of tasks given to him by the Adders, and thus probably ran into Sanson a lot..

It wasn’t the first time he had suspected something was  _ happening _ between the other two members of their trio, from hearing their names together in passing from a superior to watching them when they were sent on assignments, not to mention the way Sanson had practically  _ glowed  _ when he had first gotten to meet the Warrior, it wasn’t that far-fetched of an assumption. Even the last time everyone had gone out to a tavern, the two of them had practically latched onto each other once they had both arrived. The Warrior of Light, of course, had been approached by varying types of people seeking his conversation or advice, but that hadn’t seemed to affect Sanson’s decision to hover by him all night. 

And, if Guydelot pictured them leaning on each other, or the way the Miqo’te’s tail had almost wrapped around Sanson, and felt a little bitter who could blame him? They had been a  _ trio _ , and yet it seemed as though the other two were determined to make it a duo. 

_ Bitter.  _ That’s all it was.

_ Perhaps it hadn’t bothered them when I left, after all. _

Anytime  _ that  _ thought appeared he was quick to dismiss it.  _ Insecurity doesn’t suit you.  _ Surely there was something to be said for the way Sanson had looked when he  _ had  _ come back, after all?

But, that was in the past. And now, in the present, watching them he was all but sure of it. Guydelot had been around enough people who were involved to know a thing or two about how to read the signs. Why else would Sanson be here in the first place? Tavern nights with their recruits was one thing, but a  _ party _ ?

There was also the matter of his choice of attire...

Which, revealing as it was (and he did take time to thoroughly look over Sanson, rare as he knew this opportunity would be) did not seem like something the Captain would wear. At all. Or own. Or anything.

_ Well, who knew underneath those horrifying uniforms he looked like.. That. If dating the Warrior of Light makes him dress like this then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to be a third wheel.  _ The bard purposefully let his eyes drag on their way back up the deep v-neck, well aware both the Miqo’te and Sanson were watching him back. 

_ Oh. _ The look on Sanson’s face was definitely worth it.

Lovely blush aside, he looked so open and it was doing something to the part of Guydelot’s brain that would readily admit Sanson was attractive. (If only he wasn’t so dedicated to  _ the Order _ and loosened up a bit, he lamented once again.) There's something else in his expression too- on anyone else Guydelot would say they were waiting for him to come and kiss them, but this was  _ Sanson the Stiff. _ Not a one night stand, or a romantic pursuit.

He didn't realize he had drifted off in thought until Sanson reached for the Warrior and they both pulled each other closer. The picture left an odd feeling in the wake of the satisfaction Guydelot had felt moments ago. So, he focused on the Miqo’te and gave him a wave before forcing himself to turn away completely.  _ What did it matter if they were courting or simply crushing _ ? If it didn’t affect their work it wasn’t anyone’s business, certainly not his (even if he  _ thought _ they’d at least tell him if they were involved with anyone, especially each other)- 

“That’s not it.” he scoffed. The two he had been watching moved off towards someone who was waving at the Warrior of Light, and soon after were intercepted by a face Guydelot vaguely recognized as one of Sanson’s superiors. Behind him, a group of musicians started to play a quiet tune. Sanson and the Warrior both turned to them to listen.

_ Well, I figured they’d come say hello. But perhaps they’d rather be alone. _

The Elezen woman standing nearest to him, who he had been playing for prior to seeing the Warrior and Sanson, raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry?” She must have been saying something he had tuned out and now interrupted.

Guydelot smiled, watched her face relax again. “Nevermind, I was simply speaking out loud. However, if you’ll excuse me I could use something to drink.” She looked like she was going to say more, but before she could he turned and started off away from the group.

The table of refreshments was located near the back door, which led onto the tavern’s back porch. On the way to it, his eyes wandered back to Sanson and the Warrior of Light again- this time standing closer together. The bard Miqo’te had a hand on their lancer’s side as he laughed at whatever Sanson had said, or perhaps he was amused by how embarrassed Sanson looked. Either way, it felt oddly like spying on a private moment. Much as Guydelot enjoyed sharing those with people, he wasn’t so fond of viewing- certainly not when they looked so… wrapped up.

_ Envy isn’t very becoming,  _ he chastized himself.  _ So they’re being publicly affectionate, get over it. _

At the table, Guydelot snatched a tall cup of something he assumed was alcoholic as soon as a server offered it to him, then meandered over to an outdoor area where there weren’t many people before setting his harp down on the railing. 

_ What’s your deal? Are you that worried about them leaving you behind? You’re being ridiculous. _

Insecurities weren’t like him at all. He simply didn’t care about most things enough to worry over them in the first place. But, just as he had found when he had tried to leave during their hunt for the Ballad of Oblivion, there was something about this camaraderie they had formed- something about knowing who he was fighting with well enough to feel at ease, that made it sting to think about losing.

_ Not to mention what Sanson said to me beforehand, in Tailfeather- _

Because he knew it. He had known for awhile, he was no fool. But the fact that Sanson knew too, and had voiced it outloud-

Guydelot tossed back his cup and swallowed a good portion of the liquid inside. Things were different, now. Sanson’s opinion mattered. He was someone worth caring about, and worrying about too.

…

“Did I really just think that.” He grumbled.

He wasn’t alone much longer to mull over it, before someone decided to interrupt him. He heard the footsteps and assumed it was someone from the group he had been around earlier, so didn’t bother turning around. Friendly as they had been, none of them were exactly what he wanted to deal with right now.

_ You’re acting like a lovesick fool- _

"What are you doing out here?"

Guydelot glanced over his shoulder. Sanson and the Warrior of Light were approaching, no longer holding onto one another. He almost laughed.  _ Good. _ It was the Miqo’te who had spoken, and who was leading the way. His companion looked uncomfortable and kept pulling at the choker around his throat- pointedly looking away from Guydelot the whole while. He had thought they’d made some progress in their own tentative friendship, but it seemed for some reason he was making Sanson incredibly uneasy tonight with all his fidgeting and distancing. He had seemed okay on their recent mission, and even the night Guydelot had walked him home he hadn’t acted so put off. Normally Guydelot didn’t worry about offending people, or particularly about upsetting them either- wasn’t his fault if people couldn’t handle the truth or someone else’s opinions. But this time…

_ This time, what? He's different? _

Well.. perhaps he’d had the right of it. Living through an ordeal such as they had was bound to form a bond, so naturally he would see the Warrior of Light and Sanson both in higher regards. At the start of their journey he had felt very differently than he did now, by far.

_ But he still needs to get his head out of work and relax a little. His looks will only get him so far. _

“Getting some air, is all. Gets a bit stifling being surrounded by so many people.” He answered. The Warrior of Light laughed. “Didn’t realize you two were coming, you should have told me.”

“Well, we thought it might be fun to surprise you…” the Miqo’te replied, glancing over his shoulder briefly. “But you looked busy so we decided to wait to say hello.”

_ Ah, this is where they tell me they’re together and hope it doesn’t affect our work and blah blah…  _ Guydelot realized belatedly.  _ Perhaps that’s why Sanson seems so nervous. _

“I always have time for you two.” He says, grinning at them. “But you’ve found me now. Came to receive my blessing finally, eh? I admit I was waiting for you to bring it up, but I didn’t think it would take quite so long.” The Warrior furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at Sanson again. “As long as you promise to keep your hands to yourself around me, I don’t find a reason to tell you it’s a bad idea. Perhaps spending lots of time with our Warrior here will finally get you to lay off your obsession with work, aye?” The last part he directed to the lancer, who looked extremely surprised but at least was actually looking at Guydelot now.

Something about the air felt charged suddenly, awkwardly, and Guydelot stood up properly so he could face the other two. When neither of them spoke or offered an explanation to their strange reactions, he raised an eyebrow at them. "Or perhaps not."

“Ah, what do you mean?” Sanson asked, finally.

“...Aren’t you here to tell me you two are courting each other?”

The Warrior of Light’s ears shot up, alarm spreading over his face at the same time that Sanson’s entire face flushed. His neck colored slightly as well, spreading down to his exposed collarbones and drawing Guydelot’s attention once again to the bare skin. But, he looked back up at his face in time to see him turn away and bury his face in one hand. “What’s with those reactions?” Dismayed, Guydelot called out.

“Guydelot-” the Warrior of Light snapped back. A mix of humor and concern was evident in his voice, only making Guydelot even more confused. “ _ No.  _ No, just.. No. I love you both, but no. Not like that. Oh Gods-” The Miqo’te doubled over, now fully laughing, tail rapidly swaying with amusement.

“Well you’ve had me fooled!” he doesn’t add that he didn’t really seriously think it was a thing until a few hours ago, just speculated. “Care to explain why you’re actin’ all weird then, Chief, if not because you’re trying to come clean to me about an illicit affair?”

The back of Sanson’s ears burn this time, and Guydelot ignores the squeeze his heart makes at the sight.  _ Sanson, cute? No way.  _ “I wasn’t aware I was acting weird, Guydelot, my apologies.”

The Warrior of Light, now sitting against the railing as he recovers from his laughing fit, scoffs. “He’s shy is all. I made him wear that shirt and he’s embarrassed.”

_ So he still dressed him up. Why, then?  _ Guydelot leaned back against the railing as well, smirking at the look Sanson threw to the Miqo’te. “ _ Oh  _ I see.. Trying to get the attention of someone?”

Sanson shook his head. The Warrior of Light looked like he wanted to argue but the glances they exchanged must have been enough to keep him quiet. “The Warrior of Light is, though. Seems he’s got a thing for archers with bad attitudes.”

Somewhere between their friend denying anything Sanson says, and the lancer trying to convince him he’s a primal slayer and should be able to talk to boys, Guydelot forgets to come back to the topic of Sanson’s perhaps actual love interest until much later, when the Warrior of Light has wandered off to grab another drink since the waiters stopped bringing them by. 

If Sanson  _ did  _ like someone, what kind of person would they be? The most obvious answer seemed… pretty clear. Hard working, serious, someone who can fight. But, more importantly, they would be everything that Guydelot couldn’t stand. Someone definitely  _ not _ -

“You know, I could be biased," Guydelot starts, a desperate attempt to halt the train of his thoughts. "-but I think that if there  _ was  _ someone you were interested in, they’d be pretty lucky.” He knows how to hold his alcohol but something about the way the words just come out makes him think it wouldn't be so easy to if he was totally sober. Sanson turns to look at him, eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol he had thus far consumed. He’s got his chin in his palm, elbow propped on the rail that he's now standing by, where he had been to tease their friend before being ditched for more alcohol. And now that it’s properly dark and the lights outside are lit up, he’s got a pretty glow about him, highlighting his face. Guydelot’s words catch for a moment. 

  
  
  


“It's just that, I imagine you treat everythin' you care about with the same amount of care and dedication you put towards your work, even if it is rather off putting sometimes.”

Sanson sighed. “Can’t you say something nice without putting in an insult?” he’s smiling, though, so Guydelot doesn’t answer. “Er.. thanks, I guess, though. Not that I can agree or disagree. Not all of us have as much experience as you..”

“There’s worlds of differences between romantic experience and physical experience.”

“Still-” and now he sounds more like he usually does,or at least how he has the few times Guydelot has drunk with him- thoughtful but tense, like he's trying hard not to say too much. “Women, men, Gridania, Ishgard- everywhere we go people like you.”

_ No one worth a damn. _

“Just because people like me, doesn't mean they're who I want.” After a beat, Sanson looks at him, blinking wide eyes. He fills in the thought with some further explanation; "Like the recruit at the tavern a few weeks ago." Sanson’s expression hardens a bit, fingers tightening on the railing. Guydelot raises an eyebrow at them but doesn't ask. "Definitely not my type."

"Why do what you did, then? Lead him on like that?" Sanson breathes out. He's clearly tense and can't hide it well. "And you're always flirting with people-"

"So because I flirt I automatically love or wanna go to bed with all of them?" Sanson flushed, probably at the turn of conversation, and the bard feels that unfamiliar tightening in his chest again. He shrugs it off. "A kiss is a kiss. Doesn't mean anything else. Besides, he's the one who was sayin' that stuff so bluntly, like it's any of his business what I do or don't do, or have or.. Haven't."

The soft expression on the Captain’s face changes to one less sweet and more scandalized. “Wait-” he stands up straight so fast Guydelot can practically feel him sway on his feet, and he puts out a hand instinctively to steady him. Sanson’s own hand grips his arm near the elbow, fingers digging through the thin material and into his skin underneath, and he leans in close like he’s about to say something secretive. "We thought- all those times you disappeared was because…" 

Guydelot’s enjoying the awkward pause too much to finish the thought for Sanson. But, eventually he prompts him by stepping closer and tilting his head curiously. A noise rises out of Sanson's throat; so uncharacteristic and  _ needy _ it forces a rush of hot adrenaline through Guydelot’s sternum. "So.. you haven't..?"

Guydelot wants to laugh, he really does, because what in the hells? And also, Sanson looks so serious and concerned, it’s almost comical. "Oh, I have. Plenty. But probably not as often as people assume. Certainly not with anyone romantically."

"Why not?"

_ What a strange conversation this has become.  _ "Why all the questions and sudden interest? Listen, Sanson, being in love is putting yourself on the line for heartbreak. Why would I put myself through that for someone who isn't worth the risk?"

Sanson stares at him, silently for a moment. “Then, who is?” he asks. The question catches Guydelot off guard, and he searches for an answer. Close as they are, it’s easy to appreciate the difference in their heights (which he may have noted before, on one or two occasions, for no real reason), as well as the firm grip Sanson has on him that probably is habit from training with a lance for years. His bare arm underneath Guydelot’s fingers, too, tense and flexing the muscles unintentionally, speaks to something in the back of his mind. No, he may not have ‘romantic expertise’, but if he had to pinpoint someone he was curious about…

“Am I interrupting something?”

Guydelot’s heart drops slightly when Sanson pulls away, putting space between them, and looks at the approaching Warrior of Light. His fingers feel cold from where they had been touching Sanson, side effect from the outdoor chill sticking to his skin, but his pulse is centered there, pounding heavily.

_ I wanted to kiss you. I still do. _

“No,” Sanson says, too quickly and out of breath, startled. “But, I think.. I should head home. It’s getting late and I have to finish reports tomorrow.” He looks at Guydelot, and the bard finds he can easily ignore the Miqo’te is watching them when pinned under such an intense gaze. Sanson's eyes look guarded, hiding behind walls that the Elezen had thought he had gotten past by now. He looks confused, and Guydelot can't figure out why. 

“Goodnight, Guydelot.”

He pulls a fake smile from somewhere and nods. “Goodnight, Chief. Don’t injure yourself tonight, aye? Or else I’ll have to come and watch over you again.”

Sanson doesn’t answer, but turns to leave, raising a hand to cover his mouth awkwardly as he makes his exit.


	4. dangerous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally this was gonna be half of this chapter but i'm nothing without a good cliffhanger /insert sparkle emoji/ is there a way to make friends who also love them because.. i love them. we need a discord or something. is there one? i wanna join
> 
> also this hasn't been proofread as much as i usually do but... hopefully i least remembered to go back to all the places i made notes. if you see any errors let me know.
> 
> basically the only point of this was to confuse sanson and progress the tension. it's the filler episode no one wanted

Sanson doesn’t see Guydelot for several days after the party. It’s not like he’s avoiding him, that would be ridiculous  _ and  _ childish, even if the Warrior of Light seems to think otherwise and keeps giving him curious looks everytime they pass in the Adder Headquater’s Halls. It’s just that anytime he  _ has  _ seen the Elezen bard, someone has needed him somewhere else, or he remembered something he forgot to do, or someone stopped him to give him more work…

_ Okay, maybe I’m kind of avoiding him. Is it avoiding if it isn’t on purpose? Probably not. I’m just busy. I have better things to do than put energy into avoiding someone... _

It  _ isn’t  _ all on purpose, that much is true. And it isn’t exactly intentional anyway. But, ever since then, it’s been even harder to look at the bard than it already was getting to be. The conversation they had had hung in Sanson’s mind like a tarp had been hung over his head; words and implications and  _ questions  _ hanging off it and only confusing him even more. 

_ What kind of person did Guydelot want? _

When he had been drunk that time a few weeks ago, and subsequently ended up drifting into rather dangerous territory in his thoughts, he had assumed it would be a one-time daydream. Assumed the strange questions he had wondered about were just products of alcohol. But there were times since then that had proven that wrong- even if they hadn’t gone  _ that  _ far again.. His flustered behavior was definitely new.  _ But once you’ve had thought that kind of thing about someone, of course you’d feel embarrassed to be around them. It’s normal. _

“I don’t have a crush on him.” he muttered, glaring at the papers in his hands.

“You don’t?”

A noise Sanson would deny ever came out of his mouth echoed around the room. He jumped, whipping around to see Guydelot himself standing next to him behind his desk.  _ When did he get here? Why is he here? Oh Gods he overheard me- why is he so close again- _

“Uh- how long have you been there?”

Guydelot laughed. “Long enough. This the same person you  _ weren’t  _ trying to impress at the party?”

“No one said I was trying to impress anyone.”

“The Warrior of Light knows, right? So why can’t I know?”

With a hand to his forehead, Sanson willed himself to breathe slower. His pulse, already up from being startled, wasn’t going down at all now that Guydelot was leaning closer to him and  _ staring _ \-  _ why is he always staring so intensely??  _ The train of conversation didn’t help, either.  _ Twelve save me from these bards! _

“There’s nothing to know.” Sanson gathered up the rest of the papers he needed and turned to walk away from his desk, expecting Guydelot to move out of the way. Guydelot didn’t budge, however. Instead, he put a hand on the edge of the wood and cocked out his hip, blocking Sanson’s way even more. Samson frowned. “What? Can I do something for you?”

Guydelot shrugged. “Can you?”

“Be serious, I have things to do you know, unlike you.”

“I do work!” Sanson raised an eyebrow. The bard frowned. He raised his free hand and waved it in an overdramatic motion. “Yes, well, I work when I’m needed and it suits me. And I’m currently needed, which coincides with myself needing something to do." He paused long enough to reach out and tap Sanson on the shoulder. "However, it also just so happens that I need  _ you _ .”

It shouldn’t, because he  _ knows  _ the context and what is meant, but Sanson can’t stop the way his heart stutters at hearing such words. He looks up into Guydelot’s eyes to find his expression is friendly like usual- or like was becoming more and more usual ever since their return from the Churning Mists- but something about his smile feels…

_ Forced. _

All at once, Sanson’s stomach flips over and his chest tightens; and not in a good way, either. He does his best to not let it show on his face as he steps back and out of range of Guydelot once more, but he isn't sure he manages to keep the feeling from discoloring his tone of voice. “I’m quite busy, so if you could please get to the point I’d appreciate it.”

If Guydelot’s smile was forced before, his face now feels much more  _ honest  _ at least-  _ and familiar too. _ He thinks sourly.  _ That's right. We might be part of a unit, maybe even friends, but that doesn't mean niceness and such is  _ us.  _ Much better to stick to what we know. _

As he thinks it, he recalls the party the other night, the conversation they'd had, and the things it had made him wonder and feel. Despite the teasing, Guydelot had been strangely  _ nice _ , and had even complimented Sanson. Not only that, but he’d admitted some of his own personal thoughts (and fears, apparently) that were strange and he had no idea what to make of it still. Generally he didn't know what to make of Guydelot anyway, but something about this- about the ways Guydelot had exposed himself was different. Sanson just couldn't quite put his finger on  _ why _ .

_ And no, it isn't because I have a crush.  _ He reminded a nagging voice that sounded suspiciously like the Warrior of Light.

Guydelot made an irritated noise, pursing his lips. "Hey, Chief, you listening?"

“I’m late for a meeting, I don’t have time for this.” Sanson side stepped, attempting to step through the minimal space between Guydelot and the wall, only to bump into something in his path. Sanson put a hand out without thinking, grasping the block and then thought to look down. Guydelot’s leg was stuck out in his way- blocking his path, and, currently, underneath of his fingers.  _ Oh.  _ Immediately he felt his ears flushing, but he made use of the leverage to slightly change his grip and then push Guydelot’s leg out of the way. “Walk with me and talk, or go get someone else to help you if it can’t wait.” He continued as way of answering. Stuck between the bard’s bent knee and the wall, he paused. He had expected Guydelot to move; to resist being touched and.. Manhandled, as it were, but instead he was simply standing there, staring at Sanson, position adjusted even so they were facing-  _ waiting, watching for what I'll do next. Ready to go along with it _ .  _ Pliant. _ His palms were turned- braced against the desk to adjust to Sanson’s maneuvering. Eyes carefully guarded, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned.

Unconcerned, but Sanson was in the uncomfortably common situation of feeling his heart rate steadily climbing.

_ Is this a familiar thing for him? Is his reaction just habit? Is being trussed up on someone’s desk something people do? _

_ Well.  _ the small voice in the back of his head mused, and Sanson swallowed.  _ Certainly would make it easier to address our height issues. _

He hates how easy it is to notice these things now. How the first thing he noticed about Guydelot’s leg was the warmth, the muscle, the shape of his bones. How holding it,  _ feeling  _ it and recognizing just how slender Guydelot truly was made him want to hold him more, hold him closer.

_ I could do it. _ He realized slowly.  _ Hold him. He’s light, height aside. Digging fingers into his hips, or his thighs, an arm around his waist,  _ and his train of thought conjures an image of pinning Guydelot to the wall like that, the bard’s legs hiked up around him so Sanson can get to his neck easily, can bite him like Guydelot bites during kisses. Due to the way he’s staring at the bard already, he sees immediately when Guydelot relaxes slightly and leans even further back onto the desk, not enough to really change their situation, or diffuse it, possibly, but enough to reinforce he’s not concerned, and maybe even…  _ wants to be there. _ Enough to redirect the blood flushing Sanson’s face and fueling his heartbeat towards his gut, instead.

_ How do we keep ending up here? This never happened before. Stuff like this doesn’t just happen, does it?  _ He wondered; even as his gaze drug down impossibly long legs, one of which had shifted and was pressing against his hip now; applying pressure as they both held each other in place.  _ Caging him to the desk, he trapping me between his knees. Would he kiss me or would he wait for me to do it?  _ So close to fleeting temptations and yet-

“You know, if you didn’t think so much I think you’d be quite scary.” Guydelot chuckled, voice breathy and strained, breaking the awkward silence. 

_ This is weird for him. He’s uncomfortable, oh no- _

_ But he could have moved, he could have done many things to stop it- _

_ He’s the one who blocked me in the first place, surely even the lack of space alone would have made him not do it if he didn’t maybe… want… _

_ Want… what? _

Sanson took a deep breath, willing his racing thoughts to halt. “...Scary isn’t usually something people strive to be.”

“You should try this on your crush. Grab ‘em and go for it. Well, after giving them an out if they don’t reciprocate, that is.”

_ Is that what that was? He made an out for himself by breaking the moment, right? So that means that whatever weird stuff has been happening, he doesn’t feel the same. Right? _

Sanson scoffed, and then stepped away, dropping his hand from Guydelot. The loss of the warmth in his hand and against his hip is strangely noticeable. So, too, is the weird knot of emotion that hangs over him. Disappointed or relieved, rolled up with lingering arousal, whatever the reason in this moment, he knows he didn’t imagine the way Guydelot had looked at him before, the way he had cared enough to escort Sanson home, the way they had been drawn together once alone and had gravitated to holding onto each other. He knows something has changed, something is different. The obvious answer is what he’s been saying all along; they’re comrades now. They’re a team, they trust each other.

But... 

He moved towards the door quickly, ignoring that Guydelot had fallen back completely and was  _ lounging  _ on his desk. “And then be forever humiliated? I don’t think so.”

“If you don’t try, you’ll never know!”

“Being wise doesn’t suit you. Get off my desk.”

Guydelot sighed, grumbling under his breath. But the door shut before Sanson could hear it or acknowledge that he had basically admitted Guydelot was right.


End file.
